Off Hours
by Aromene
Summary: A collection of stories of varying lengths covering the first three seasons.
1. 39th Minute

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything.**

**AN: ****This is how it could have ended. Tag to **_**38 Minutes.

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He thinks the nurse's name is Kelly, but it could be Kendra or something equally as original, because he hasn't spent that much time in the infirmary (yet) and he's never been brilliant at remembering names. Also, he's pretty sure every single one of Beckett's nurses looks the same.

He smiles when Elizabeth walks into the room. Some small part of his heart flutters because he's alive and she's there, but he firmly squashes it down. They've been there less than a month and he has much more important things to do than feed an attraction to his boss.

"How are you feeling?" she asks. He sighs; partly in annoyance, and partly in amusement. So far ten people have asked him the same question, and he's pretty sure it'll top out near a hundred when all is said and done.

He replies the way they all expect him to at this point. "Starving." Which he actually is, and he's a little put-out that no one has thought to bring him anything.

Rodney smirks. "He's got quite the hickey, but Carson says he'll be fine. I just really hope this doesn't become a habit of yours or something, because I don't think my blood pressure will take it."

John's not really all that worried about Rodney's pretty much perfect pressure, so he doesn't let the opportunity to antagonize his new team mate slide.

"Sorry McKay," he says in a voice that clearly says he isn't, "but I'm always like this. Got that damn hero complex and _everything_. Besides, this is just getting old; I mean, I've died four times before."

Rodney goes an interesting shade of pink that John never even knew existed. Elizabeth sends him a warning look, but he figures he's the one in the hospital bed at the moment and that gives him a little leeway for at least another few hours.

"Well, maybe I shouldn't count that one time in Afghanistan when I crashed the chopper. Because, really, I only stopped breathing for about a minute. Wasn't, you know, clinically dead or anything. So, maybe just only three times. Well, four _now_."

Rodney chokes and then makes an interesting strangled noise as if he's trying to scream and won't let himself.

"Is there any particular reason Rodney looks about ready to...explode?" The accent is unmistakable, and John takes a second to berate himself because he completely forgot there was another door into the room.

Rodney chokes out a sound that could be anything from a swear word in some Eastern European country to a promise of murder at some point in the future. Privately, John thinks it's probably a combination of both.

"Rodney, the Major is fine. Now why don't you calm yourself down lad, before you send that blood pressure of yours through the roof?"

Their resident genius takes a shuddering breath and stomps out of the room. John smiles in satisfaction until Beckett turns to glance at him sharply.

"You're really not helping things, lad. He was pretty damn terrified back in the jumper, and you dying and all didn't ease things much. We were all bloody terrified for a few minutes there. You best not be making a habit of it." John makes a face that looks perfectly admonished, but from the look Ford is throwing him, the kid at least doesn't buy it.

Beckett fiddles with the IV line, even though there's nothing wrong with it, and Ford takes that as a cue to leave. Teyla backs out with him, and John thinks that deserting him to the mercies of Beckett and Elizabeth is a rather cruel thing to do right after he's been, you know, _dead_.

"We're just glad to have you back with us," Elizabeth says, and awkwardly pats his foot. He gives her a winning smile, and that seems enough satisfy her that everything is alright. Unfortunately, it also means it's alright to _leave_.

"Major," Beckett starts, and John's pretty sure he's about to get read the riot act. He only half thinks he deserves it, because really, it's not like he _asked_ the bug to latch itself on to his neck. "In the future, I'd appreciate it if you're a bit more cautious about what you say to Rodney. He doesn't take these sorts of things well."

"Sorry, Doc."

"Aye, well, I'd also appreciate it if you'd be a bit more cautious about where you're running in the future as well."

They both know it's a pointless declaration. They probably haven't even gotten to the top of the proverbial barrel yet, and no one knows what the future will bring. This won't be the last time he's the one lying in the infirmary. But he also knows that what Beckett is really saying is that he hopes there will be many, many more chances for John to actually _be_ around to be the one lying in the infirmary.

So John just nods, because it's what he's supposed to do. "Thanks, Doc," he says, and really means it.

"Aye, well, that's what I'm here for. Just don't go taking that for granted now. You best be getting some rest, lad."

It's only after Beckett has left that John realizes that no one has brought him food.


	2. It Had to be Trees

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything.**

**AN: ****Couldn't resist.

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"Oh look, they have trees here too. Fancy that."

If John Sheppard had known that Jack O'Neill had been famous for the same sarcastic joke, he probably would have shrugged and said that O'Neill had a good point. But since O'Neill wasn't even in the same galaxy he had to settle for Teyla's silence, Ronon's harrumph, and Rodney's sarcastic comeback.

Which was a rather lame: "Did you expect pink sand?"

For Rodney, it was a come_down_, but since he had a rather good excuse for being in a lousy mood, John was willing to forgo answering. Besides, the ache building behind his eyes was a warning not to start bickering or risk a pounding headache.

Instead, he concentrated on trying to remember what mission number this was in the last two months where the objective was 'check out strange energy reading on otherwise seemingly deserted planet'. He thought it was seven, but it could have just as easily been ten. Counting was actually kind of depressing.

The others (however many there were) had all been dead ends, and this one (whatever number it was) was starting to look the same. Which meant that Teyla and Ronon were bored and trying not to complain about it, and Rodney was a) whining about hiking for five miles in search of nothing, and b) annoyed that he could have been back in the labs doing something more important. The two together were a bad combination and probably mostly responsible for John's developing headache.

Really, he should have realized his attempt at humour would have made everything worse.

"There's nothing here. I mean, faint energy signal that has not been growing stronger no matter how far we walk aside, there is nothing else here of interest. So why don't we just all admit this is a huge waste of time and energy, go back home, and get some other team with more time and less brains to come back out here in a jumper and spend _their_ day hunting the bloody thing down."

Rodney had a point. "Alright, we'll head back. We've been circling that way the past two clicks anyways. Think you can manage another mile or so McKay, or do you need a rest?"

"Just keep walking, Colonel. I have no desire to drag this pointless expedition out longer than it already is. Some of us have _real_ work to do."

John opened his mouth with a witty comeback and then closed it when he caught sight of Teyla's exasperated expression. Alright, so pissing off the rest of his team wasn't exactly a bright idea.

But he was John Sheppard, and so he really couldn't help himself. "It's just, couldn't they come in any other colour than green?"

He managed to duck the stick Rodney threw at him, while missing the one Ronon had aimed for his head. He spent the rest of the walk back to the 'Gate with a headache.


	3. Comforts

**Disclaimer: Don't own a****nything.**

**AN: The first of many Carson-related shorts. I was...a little obsessed way back when.

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There were twenty-seven hours and 6 minutes in every Atlantean day. The expedition had been two days in the Pegasus galaxy when Rodney reprogrammed the computer clock and updated every laptop on the network server.

But Carson couldn't quite let go of such a strong link to earth. He kept a clock on his office desk, programmed to GMT. And every now and then he would stop his work and glance at it and wonder what his mother was up to, or what his sister was doing back on earth at that very moment. It gave him some measure of comfort to know they were going about their daily lives, safe from the Wraith and probably the Ori and Goa'uld too. Or so he hoped.


	4. Impossibilities

**Disclaimer: Don't own a****nything.**

**AN: ****Another Carson/Rodney friendship fic.

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Carson Beckett was kind, caring, thoughtful and a very patient man. He had always made friends easily with his trusting nature, and kept them.

Rodney McKay was, in very simple words, an arrogant bastard. He had never really had a true friend in his life, but could count his enemies in triple digits.

That these two men would become fast friends defied all logic, probability and all physical laws in the SGC-known universe.

But the two men knew otherwise. Carson was the only one with the patience to deal with Rodney even when he was in a bad mood. He knew just how to treat him and just what to say to calm him down. And because Carson was always willing to listen and Rodney was always willing to talk, the two got along quite well indeed.

And there wasn't a single doctor in the entire universe that would have put up with Rodney's hypochondria the way Carson could.


	5. All the Things We Leave Behind

**Disclaimer: Don't own a****nything.**

**AN: ****Carson, again.

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For the most part, they had been chosen for a reason. They were the ones that no one back on Earth would miss.

But there had been some of them who had come all the way across the universe because they had had too, even if they'd had to leave behind the lies of where they were going. Carson had often wondered what it was like for Elizabeth or John who had seemingly disappeared off the face of the Earth without anyone asking where they had gone. It had been hard enough for him to leave his mother the first time, with half-kept promises and little white lies, but seeing her that first time they had come back had been the hardest thing that Carson had ever had to do. Because he'd lied point-blank. He'd never done that too his mother before; had sworn to himself he never would, but he'd had to, because the truth just wasn't an option.

It had nagged at him ever since. He was scared to admit to himself that it had actually gotten easy; that the lies flowed from his lips and his hands without a thought. That he told her about Rodney who was their technologist, and John who was their pilot, and Elizabeth who was in charge, and Teyla who was African (and where had he come up with _that_ from?), and how he was working as a doctor for the team because they were too far away from civilization for comfort. It was all true, and yet it was all lies.

He wondered, every now and then, if his mother believed any of it, or whether she was just humouring him because she knew he couldn't tell her the truth. He hoped she didn't know, because then she'd worry about him even more.


	6. Forgiveness

**Disclaimer: Don't own a****nything.**

**AN: ****Hey, angst fic!

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He'd failed before. Despite everything he said on a daily basis, he was not infallible. It wasn't something he liked to think about though, because failing was the worst thing imaginable in life. And failing these days usually meant losing a friend or co-worker. Because it just made sense that when the most brilliant mind in the universe screwed up, that he was going to take someone down with him.

He'd never failed this badly before. Oh, there had been Doranda, a disaster he really didn't even want to think about, but he'd only killed one person and the solar system had, at least, been uninhabited. This time was different. This time he'd killed his best friend.

John tried to talk him out of the blame. Tried to convince him that it wasn't his fault; that he couldn't have known what would happen. Part of him wanted to believe the words to be true, but he knew in his heart that they weren't. He knew he was to blame.

He'd begged John for forgiveness after Doranda. And he'd gotten it, even if it had taken awhile. He'd earned John's trust back. But John had been there to forgive him.

You can't ask the dead for forgiveness. Even if he was ready to, which he didn't think he'd ever be. A part of him wanted everyone to blame him. Wanted everyone to agree with him that it really had been his fault. Because the anger of others he knew how to deal with. It gave him a reason to distance himself; to withdraw from everyone around him and wallow in his own guilt. But John didn't blame him, and Elizabeth didn't blame him and it was driving him nuts.

He wanted so much for it to all have never happened. He wanted Carson there to tell him that everything was alright. Because then it would be, and Rodney would believe it. But Carson wasn't there, and everything was very far from being alright.

In the end he prayed for the chance to fix his mistake, because after everything else it was all he had left.


	7. All the Love in the World

**Disclaimer: Don't own a****nything.**

**AN: ****Hey, ****more ****angst fic!

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When Carson was twelve his older brother had brought home a puppy. It was a rangy mutt, the runt of a litter only eight weeks old, but Carson had taken to the little thing immediately.

Carson named him 'Shaggy', which was neither particularly cute nor particularly original, but it seemed to fit, and Shaggy seemed to like it.

The pup took to following him everywhere; a constant shadow. This lasted until school resumed in September. Shaggy whined for three days until Carson's mother became so tired of the noise that she locked the dog in the shed.

When Carson returned home from class to find the puppy cowering in the corner of the pitch-dark building he had the first argument he'd ever had with his parents. As would become the norm for the rest of his life, he won. Shaggy stopped whining and Carson's parents considered it a win-win situation.

When Carson was fifteen, Shaggy broke his left leg in a rabbit hole and Carson spent the better part of six weeks carrying the dog everywhere he could. Once the cast came off he devoted his time to helping the dog strengthen the weakened muscles.

Carson's mother thought it was sweet. Carson knew he'd found his calling.

He left for school the summer he was eighteen, and Shaggy contented himself with following Carson's younger sister around instead.

He returned home from university one weekend in the cold of winter and was surprised when Shaggy did not race out to greet him. Brigit explained between choked gasps of tears that she'd taken the dog for a walk down the lane to the town road and that a car had swerved on the ice. She'd narrowly avoided injury herself.

Carson cried himself to sleep that night for the first time in years. He was inconsolable. When Sunday evening rolled around and he refused to return to school his mother put her foot down.

"It was only a dog," she said, though her voice was not entirely unkind.

"But I loved him."

"Too much," she responded.

He ignored her. His unconditional ability to love is what would make him the brilliant doctor he was born to be.


	8. Unexpected Love

**Disclaimer: Don't own a****nything.**

**AN: ****Hey,**** still ****more ****angst fic!

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Carson had never expected to find love on the other side of the galaxy. Adventure, yes; the unbelievable, certainly; death, hopefully not.

He'd know he was attracted to Perna as soon as he laid eyes on her. She was smart and beautiful and so devoted to her work (his work) and she was everything he'd ever wanted.

Working alongside her was a joy. Every little gasp of joy and look of astonishment when he showed her something new made his heart flutter.

He wanted to hate her for her involvement, but he knew she was only doing what she'd devoted her life to. The fault had been the Governor's and she had been used, just as he had been.

The look on Teyla's face had caused a little part of his heart to shatter. It raced as he searched the beds for her and then stopped when he laid eyes on her.

As he held her hand and stroked her hair and watched her breathe her last gasping breathe he knew he loved her, but it was not enough to save her.

He walked away from it all without a backwards glance.


	9. Not Alone

**Disclaimer: Don't own a****nything.**

**AN: ****I was going through a thing.

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Carson sighed, rolled his shoulders, and wished for death. Bloody hell, why hadn't they brought a professional masseuse with them? They'd be the busiest person in the city.

He was relatively certain he'd been awake for forty hours. But then, the last two days were starting to blur just enough that he wasn't entirely sure if it had been yesterday he'd last been to his bed or the day before. He was approaching the kind of bone-dead weariness only known to people like soldiers or first year med students. Or PhD's in genetics who were trying to find a way to reverse a genetic mutation that they had caused in the first place.

Carson knew he should sleep. Knew that he was tired enough that he wasn't really up to figuring anything out, and that he'd probably only make a mistake if he tried. But he couldn't quite bring himself to retire to his quarters and at least try to sleep. Because John didn't have the time to wait around for Carson to get his beauty sleep. Atlantis' commanding officer was running out of time; sleep didn't seem all that important anymore.

He'd tried everything he could think of. Had come up with the brilliant solution to the problem that everyone was expecting him to come up with. Elizabeth had looked at him with such hope when he'd told her his plan. The despair in her eyes when it all went to hell had nearly crushed him. He was hiding; he knew that, but he couldn't bring himself to face his staff and his friends and look them in the eye and tell them that there was nothing more he could do.

Except he knew there was. But Elizabeth wasn't going to let him try again. Wasn't willing to let him risk his own life in order to save John's and make up for his own mistake. He'd started this whole thing. Some god-like attempt to 'save' the Wraith from that which they simply were. A half-assed attempt at compassion to an enemy who didn't even know the meaning of the word.

He didn't hear the soft footfalls behind him. Didn't notice the presence until hands settled onto his shoulders and squeezed. Just a gentle touch to let him know he wasn't alone.

Rodney's eyes were as haunted as his own when he turned to meet them.


	10. New Moon

**Disclaimer: Don't own a****nything.**

**AN: ****Clearly old world.

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Atlantis had no moon. It was a good three weeks before Carson stopped looking up into the sky and expecting to see the quarter or the sickle or the full orb shinning down in silver. He wondered what it would have looked like to see its circle reflecting on the ocean. Watch its mesmerizing light ripple with the waves.

In his childhood the moon had seemed so large to him, such a fascinating wonder. It was so like the sun, but he thought it more beautiful. Its rays did not harm. Its light did not blind. It was a comfort to him in the dark. On the nights of the full moon, when it was clear and bright he could wander over the heather just by the silver light alone. The moon was a companion.

Even when the stars were veiled, she was always there. Selene, his mother had once told him, was what the Greeks had named her. He thought the name fit.

But she was not her to watch over the City of the Ancients, nor its new inhabitants. It was like a continuous phase of a new moon, except there was no silver sickle to come. No chance of it waxing towards the full to shine down upon the ocean like liquid silver.

There were nights he missed the moon more than he missed anything else.


	11. Ocean Waves

**Disclaimer: Don't own a****nything.**

**AN: ****Huh.

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Carson hadn't grown up beside the ocean, but he had been aware that it was all around him. When he was a child, his parents had taken him and his siblings to the coast almost every summer for a week. He'd relished the smell of the salt air and the sound of the waves pounding against the rocks, and for a few days after they returned home every year he wouldn't be able to sleep because it was just too quiet.

His room on Atlantis, though it contained a private balcony that looked east, was too far above the ocean and too far in from the piers for him to hear the ocean except on rare occasions. But he'd long since gotten used to sleeping with the noise of the waves, and on Atlantis there was another noise that underlay all the others that was as steady and calming as the waves had been to him when he was a child.


	12. Sunny and Mild

**Disclaimer: Don't own a****nything.**

**AN: ****Almost all of them.

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Winter didn't seem to exist on Atlantis. There were months of the year when the temperatures at night were a little bit cooler, and the sun during the day was a little bit weaker, but for the most part very few members of the expedition even consciously noticed the change.

For Rodney, having no discernable seasons was rather a new concept. He'd lived in extremes most of his life, and gotten used to them, if not liked them. Suddenly they were in a galaxy where winter didn't seem to exist as a concept. Oh, there'd been the occasional snow-capped mountain top, and a night of frost here and there, but freezing to death was about the one way to go that he didn't even have to worry about. It was rather a nice change, but it didn't really matter much in the grand scheme of things.

For Carson, who had always enjoyed the crisp turn of the air that invaded Scotland sooner than most places, and had always waited eagerly for the first snowfall as a child, having no snow was taking some getting used to. It screwed with the sense of time, because he had nothing to count the weeks and months by, except what his watch said. It just seemed to be an endless cycle of repetition, and there were days he was getting a little bored of a weather forecast that was "sunny and mild" every day of the year.

For Elizabeth, who had spent most of her adult life in nearly every climate available on earth, and a good portion of it in some of the warmest places, skipping winter was a blessing. She'd always hated the cold turn in late fall growing up, because she'd lived too far south to ever see snow, and didn't see the point of cold weather when there was no benefit of snow days. Being the practical person she was, having a mild climate across the planet Atlantis floated upon as well as all the worlds they'd visited was a stroke of luck. She didn't relish the idea of the expedition suffering through a frigid winter like the first pilgrims to North America.

For John, the heat of the Middle East had never been a problem. He was able to adapt to any climate. Alright, so slugging through sand for days on end while the sun beat down unbearably on your head wasn't at the top of his to do list, but it hadn't been nearly as bad as some of the things he'd suffered through in his life. To go from hot-as-hell to the freezing cold in summer of Antarctica had momentarily thrown him for a loop. But after a few days of avoiding the outside of the barracks as much as humanly possible, he'd adjusted. And in perfect honesty, the crisp air was a nice change. There were days on Atlantis, he missed the snow and ice. But they were few and far between.


	13. Once in Forever

**Disclaimer: Don't own a****nything.**

**AN: ****Hee.

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Rodney was acuity reminded of why he'd never wanted to live in Florida. This kind of thing he could have done without.

He liked rained. Rain in gallon loads accompanied by gale-force winds and an ocean about to crash down upon him was another story all together. He figured it was the other shoe falling. They'd had too much good luck from the second they'd set foot on Atlantis (or really, the day Daniel had discovered that they could actually _go_ to Atlantis) and apparently the Wraith weren't enough to make up for it.

He'd have bet another enemy. Some part of him would have actually preferred another enemy, because at least they knew what to do about those. Once-in-forever storms? No clue whatsoever.

It would have been different for the Ancients. They would have simply raised the shield and gone about their daily lives until the thing blew over. But nothing was ever that easy in Rodney McKay's life.

But he and Radek would figure it out. They always did. They'd save the city and everyone would be happy and Rodney would never have to worry about being drowned by a tsunami ever again.

Unfortunately, Carson didn't look the least bit convinced that Rodney was going to save the day this time. He did, in fact, look like he was bordering on terrified. Not too many hurricanes in Scotland, Rodney supposed.

"It's fine. Look, just take Teyla to the mainland. Evacuating the Athosians is really easy. You organize your staff, you should be able to do the same for the natives. Just go over there and bring them back and I'll figure out the rest of the "saving-the-day" stuff, alright?"

"Ya sure?"

"Yes."

"Alright, then, I'll be going."

"Yes, good, great. Go. You're wasting good evacuation time."

Rodney frowned as Carson retreated into the Jumper Bay to meet Ford and Teyla. Right. So, evacuation of natives taken care of. Suitable planet for refuge…getting there.

Plan to save the city from destruction by massive wave of water?

Alright, so he'd probably best get working on that.


	14. Deal's a Deal

**Disclaimer: Don't own a****nything.**

**AN: ****I just really like John/Rodney/Carson friendship stuff.

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Rodney McKay fixed things. It was what he did. Since he was a small child his favourite pastime had been to take things apart, see how they worked, then put them back together again. By the time he was ten he had graduated to putting things together that he hadn't first taken apart. It was a new challenge and he loved it. Even at the age of thirty-five he still considered the atomic bomb he had built in grade six his greatest accomplishment.

Carson Beckett fixed people. It was what he did. Ever since he was a child he'd wanted to help people. He'd been the one that had always comforted his siblings when they were upset, and his little sister had always run to him whenever she'd injured herself before she ran to their mother. His mother had always said that he was born with his bedside manner. The happiest moment of his life was the first time it had been his hands that had saved a life.

John Sheppard flew things. It was what he did. He really didn't care about the mechanics of how a helicopter worked, except the absolute smallest amount he needed to know to keep the bird from falling out of the sky. The mechanics fixed the helicopters; he just flew them. The medics fixed the people. He just evacuated them.

Rodney expected him to know how to fix the jumper if it malfunctioned. Carson expected him to know how to fix someone, at least temporarily, if they were injured off world. John Sheppard didn't want to know how to fix either.

He made them a deal they could hardly refuse. If Rodney and Carson learned how to fly the jumper, he'd learn how to fix basic malfunctions and keep a person alive until they returned to Atlantis.

It was three years later before he realized that neither Carson nor Rodney could even fly one of the things in a straight line. But he could fix the jumper systems almost as quickly as Rodney, even if he did it in a slightly different way, and it was John who had saved Carson's life when he'd been critically injured off world and hours away from Atlantis and help.

He never stopped bugging them about flying lessons, though.


	15. Descensus Hominis

**Disclaimer: Don't own a****nything.**

**AN: ****I wanted to use Latin**.

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Victory at all costs. Had he ever been stupid enough to honestly believe that was true? That that was _right_? The Colonel's voice had mirrored the anger in Carson's when he'd answered the question. It was some small measure of comfort to know that John was just as bloody pissed off at the whole thing as Carson was. But it was a very small measure.

It didn't really matter how mad the others were. The only thing that mattered was that Carson was royally pissed at himself. It had all been his own, horrible fault. How could he have been so blind to what they were planning? To the lengths Perna would go to to save her people? He should have realized. He should have known that they were that desperate. But he couldn't bring himself to even comprehend what state of mind they must have been in to think that loosing half of their population in payment for a perceived safety from the Wraith was worth it.

A small part of Carson was truly terrified by it. Because it showed him an inkling of just how bad life in Pegasus was for those who had only know enslavement to the cullings. It struck a chord of fear directly into his heart to think that Atlantis might ever come to such a point.

He knew they never would. Because when it came to it, they'd all flee back to Earth and the relative safety of the Milky Way Galaxy, where the Wraith could not follow.

He supposed that made them as much cowards as the Hoffans. Because they were both running from the Wraith, just in very different ways. He wasn't sure which was worse.

A long time before he'd sworn an oath to heal. To help. And not to kill. He'd meant every word of it; had felt it stir his heart every time he thought the words. That oath had followed him all his professional life. He'd lived by it in every way possible.

He'd broken it completely. Utterly shattered an oath he'd sworn to everyone and everything.

He had become a doctor in order to save lives. How was he going to live with taking them?


	16. The Permanence of Change

**Disclaimer: Don't own a****nything.**

**AN: ****I have no idea where this came from.

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There were, it could be said, a total of three basic rules that governed missions assigned to Atlantis' premiere Gate team. Carson had it on good authority that the same three rules also applied to SG-1, and therefore would probably apply to any First Contact team that travelled through the Gate to other planets when there was at least one alien race out for their blood.

The first rule, and really the simplest of the three, so that Carson sometimes wondered at how many Laws of the Universe had to be broken on an almost daily basis in order for the rule to even exist, was simply: _All missions will end in injuries._

Now, as rules went, this was certainly the most important in so far as Carson's department was concerned. It was the one he had to deal with on a weekly basis, after all.

The second and third rules, notably differed from rule number one only because they did not apply to _every mission_. Just most of them.

The second was: _All trade partners should be viewed with suspicion and treated like the mortal enemy they will no doubt turn out to be._

Also fairly simple, but it had the notable exception by being wrong at least once a month. And, of course, could not be applied to the first ever Atlantis mission, because the Athosians had not yet tried to backstab them.

(And wasn't just the very thought of having to use the word 'yet' in that sentence a constant source of sleepless nights and daily terror for Carson, and every other civilian member of the expedition.)

Lastly, and by far Carson's favourite of the rules, was something a bit more complex, in so far as it only applied to the third mission of every month, or when the Daedalus was around, or when SGA-2 accompanied SGA-1, or, sometimes, when it rained.

Rodney had once remarked that it was the kind of rule Americans made up to explain away everything going wrong at once. Carson rather thought it was the type of thing the Scots would invent to foretell the weather conditions in July.

_Rules number one and two shall always be ignored right when __they should be remembered most._

This last rule was the one most likely to send Carson's hair white before his fortieth birthday. It was also the one currently responsible for the development of a pounding headache.

"The ambush came out of nowhere. They serve us food, the best beer I've had this side of the Milky Way and then just up and _attack_ us. I mean, why bother?" Carson wisely chose to accept this question as rhetorical. "It was really good beer." John sighs in a put-upon way and tries not to wince as Carson finishes suturing the nice three-inch knife slice to his upper bicep.

"Can't they just put up a sign or something? Just a nice little warning to visitors. Something like "we'll be happy to share a meal with you on the condition you let us try to _kill you_!" Rodney (amazingly the only one not injured this time) is pacing the fourteen foot length of the infirmary as he starts his "I've just had to run for my life and it's not even lunch time yet" rant. Carson, with years of practice, ignores him.

"Why couldn't we get the Milky Way natives? Those people will roll over backwards to do anything for you! But no, _no_, we get the murdering psychopaths! Isn't there anyone in this galaxy that doesn't want to kill us?!"

"Nope." John helpfully suggests. Well, at least one of them has finally come to terms with all three rules. Of course, Carson has it on good authority that John is the one who _made_ The Rules.

"Well, that sucks."

"It is certainly not helpful," Teyla puts in. "If we cannot form an alliance with other peoples, how are we to ever overcome the Wraith?" Always the practical one, that girl, Carson thinks.

"Yeah, there's the catch," John mutters.

"We have travelled to many worlds, and all are hostile and untrusting of us since the Wraith awoke. I do not foresee that things will change until the threat of the cullings are gone."

"Great," Rodney remarks, darkly. "In other words, we can't find allies to help us fight the Wraith until the Wraith are destroyed? Well, that's a nice little conundrum, now isn't it?"

"We're screwed, Rodney, we get it."

"And we were doing so well," Lorne mutters into the conversation for the first time since he arrived in the infirmary to inquire whether the blood on the Gateroom floor belonged to his CO, and if so, if it was fatal. Carson likes that about Lorne. He's always so attentive to the health and wellbeing of his commanding officer, because, like every other military personnel on base, none of them want Sheppard's job.

"Yes, well, things change. And lucky for us, they just keep changing for the worse."

"Well, probability states they have to change for the better sooner or later." Lorne adds helpfully.

"Later being the key word in that sentence," John says. "Much, much later."

"Or at the rate we are going: never." Rodney puts in.

"So we haven't won a battle in a while. Things –"

"Change?" The word echoes around the room from five different directions.

"The more things change the more they –" John starts with that annoying smirk they have all come to associated with really bad jokes and one-liners.

"Don't even consider ending that sentence." Rodney warns.

"Alright, that's enough from you lot. You can all show yourselves back to your quarters." Carson decides to throw in his two pence worth in the hopes he can clear them out and console himself with tea and aspirin.

A moment later he hears John patently asking for it by finishing the sentence anyways. Rodney's tirade of death and destruction flows off down the hall and finally disappears all together at the transporter.

Carson downs two aspirin, dry, and makes pleading eyes at one of his nurses until they bring him a cup of steaming hot tea and tell him to take a break in the quiet of his office.

He studiously ignores the grey hair he discovers near his right temple the next morning.


	17. Celebration

**Disclaimer: Don't own a****nything.**

**AN: ****Short and sweet.

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**

They'd debated for a long time whether to celebrate New Years or not that first year. For one, New Years on earth and New Years on Atlantis did not coincide. Secondly, cut off from earth, there was very little to celebrate. Thirdly, so many of the expedition celebrated a different New Years than January 1st anyways. Carson had given it a great deal of thought, and finally concluded that when the clock he kept on his office desk that still followed GMT to remind him of home struck 12am on January 1st, he was going to celebrate and everyone who wanted to was welcome to join him.

The commissary was packed full well before the clock, forgotten on his desk, changed from 11:59 to 12:00.


	18. Pride of Place

**Disclaimer: Don't own a****nything.**

**AN: The ****Ga****i****rdner**** Award is to the Nobel what the Golden Globes are to the Oscars. It is a prestigious award given out in the departments of science and math (etc) to those people, around the world, who are considered to be the biggest contributors to their fields. Unlike the Nobel, it isn't about the money, and completely about the bragging rights. I figured that if Rodney is, in fact, the genius he declares himself to be, and has been changing the face of modern science for as long as he claims he has, he probably has a ****Ga****i****rdner**** stashed away somewhere.

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**

Rodney always bragged that he was going to win a Nobel. But he never told anyone about the Gairdner he'd gotten at twenty-five.

Jeannie had been so proud, his parents had not. He had thought it was his greatest accomplishment since building a nuclear bomb in grade six, but unlike the nuclear bomb no one knew what a Gairdner was. Still, Rodney had bragged about it for a week until his mother had told him to shut up.

He still had the certificate somewhere, stashed in some box he had long forgotten even existed in some storage room in Toronto that he had rented years before and hadn't paid for in nearly as long. It would never see the light of day again, wherever it was. And it wasn't something he lost any sleep over; but every now and then when things were not going right he would remember that prestigious award and feel vindicated, because he had achieved the top before anyone else he worked with.

He did not talk about his past. And until he met John Sheppard he hadn't had any reason to. Certainly John never talked about his past, but once Rodney realized they were friends he felt compelled to talk about the life he had left behind. But it was only meaningless things he offered and not the grand tragedy that his childhood actually was. John was the first person besides his therapist who didn't look at him with pity and Rodney thought that came more from John's similar past then from John's personal promise never to pity anyone who didn't want pity.

Still, one day when they were talking about things they normally didn't, Rodney let it slip. At first John wasn't sure what to do with that; he had no idea what a Gairdner was, though he'd known Rodney long enough to realize it was important. Rodney had a moment to regret his words before pride took over. He happily babbled on about the world's most prestigious award next to the Nobel Prize until John clearly regretted showing any interest. John wasn't quite sure why an award from some little company in backwater Canada that came with virtually no money could compete with the one million dollar Nobel. He was also rather surprised that despite his limited time in the academic community he had never heard of such a thing, and wondered how many other people hadn't heard of it either. What was the point of bragging when no one knew what you were talking about?

Still, Rodney was clearly proud of the accomplishment and for that John was willing to give out a free complement even if it was ten years overdue.

"You have every right to be proud," John said, "although I'm surprised you haven't held it against the other scientists."

"Well, it's not that I haven't thought about it. It's just that I have to explain to most of them want it is. And that gets old after a while. Still, the next time Radek doubts my chances at getting that Nobel that he's never going to get, I might happen to bring it up. Purely as a point of example; since the winners of the Gairdner award are nearly guaranteed a Nobel."

"I'm sure you will," John said.

"Just like the Oscars."

"Right. Well I should get going McKay. Thanks for sharing."

Rodney decided he was never, ever going to share anything with John Sheppard again. Still, at least now he could claim bragging rights and know that at least someone would understand exactly what he was talking about. That meant larger impact; and Rodney loved larger impact.

* * *

How many of you asked yourselves how I knew about the Gairdner's:D 


	19. Dust and Ashes

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Except books. Lots and lots of books.**

**Dust to dust a****nd ashes to ashes. One life ends and another begins. John Sheppard, in the years afterwards: no longer a soldier; no longer a leader; just a man at the end of all things. **

* * *

The house is empty. The moonlight from a nearly full orb shines down through the front bay window, pooling across the floor and turning the dark oak into silver. It's dead silent. There's not even a hint of wind tonight to disturb his solitude.

There's no furniture, not even a built in desk in the entire place, but the floor has a layer of dust over it so thick his feet have left footprints from the front door the ten steps into the centre of the living room. It's been months, years, he doesn't even remember anymore. Either way, it's too long.

Laughter trickles through his consciousness from upstairs. But it isn't really upstairs; it's all in his head. Sounds as memories of happiness and joy. Children's laughter. His children.

They're gone now too. Everything's gone, and it's just him and an empty house of walls and ceilings and the moon.

He isn't really sure why he came back. It's been long enough the ghosts are only there in his head which means he carries them everywhere he goes; he doesn't need the fading wallpaper to remind him.

But he's been wondering lately if maybe it's getting on time he made his choice, and he doesn't feel like he can do that without standing here one last time and picturing the details.

The photo of them over there by the fireplace. The leather couch he bought her for their anniversary because he wanted it. The kids' toys scattered here and there, just where he can trip on them when he comes home. Debra standing _right there_, a smile on her face and he knows he was the happiest man in the world then.

He blinks and it's just moonlight and darkness. He shouldn't have come. He made the choice a long time ago, but he's just been waiting. Surviving instead of living, day after day.

He's had enough days.

He's called in every favour he could and some he shouldn't, but he's managed it. He'll be in shit for it, but the plan is that no one who can do anything about it will find out until after he's long gone. They can't chase him, because even he doesn't know exactly where he's going, and there's a universe out there to get lost in. And lost is something he's had practice at.

He closes the door behind him, throws the key in the bushes and walks away without looking back. He's got eight hours to get where he's going before he misses his window of opportunity, and he can't miss it. He's made his choice and this is the only chance he's going to get.

He wonders if Debra ever knew. He'd nearly told her, so many times, but stopped himself before he said anything he'd sworn he wouldn't say. So many things he'd seen and all he wanted to do was paint the pictures for her. Best bed times stories ever. He never could, but he wonders if maybe she knew it anyways.

He makes it in seven hours and forty-one minutes, which is pretty good he thinks. He doesn't speak, doesn't look back, does hesitate, and he just _goes_. One step and he leaves a decade of his past (and probably more than that). That's not his life now; hasn't been for awhile, and he doesn't need it. He's left it on the other side and there it shall stay, where it belongs.

The universe stretches out before him in waves and circles and he can see it all in his mind. He makes his first free choice in years, absently playing a child's game of eeny-meeny-miny-moe. It could take him anywhere, but he knows it won't.

It takes him to the others. It takes him home.


	20. The Ignorance of Brilliance

**Disclaimer: It may have been awhile, but it's still not mine.**

**AN: I've been meaning to write this for three years. Post-Trinity.**

* * *

Some part of him that thought he knew Rodney rather well can't believe this is happening. Anyone who has ever met the great Rodney McKay knows what an arrogant bastard he is. Knows his ego is about the size of the Milky Way and still growing. But John, who knew his teammate rather better than most (if not all) of those people, had never thought he was _this _arrogant.

He thought, for a moment at least, that Collinsdeath would be the end of it. But Rodney had sounded so sure and John figured he owed him the benefit of the doubt. So he had agreed. Hell if that was going to happen again anytime soon.

It wasn't that he didn't just not trust Rodney anymore. If it was just that, the next near-death-Rodney-to-the-rescue scenario would have put the whole thing behind them. No, it was more than lost trust. Because Rodney had honestly thought it was alright; that he was brilliant enough to make it work. And he wasn't. And it was going to be sometime before either of them came to terms with that revelation.

Rodney was brilliant, but apparently not brilliant enough. He could not wrap his rather sizable brain capacity around the concept that some things really were completely impossible.

And that was the problem. John knew a lost cause when he saw one, although as he has said to Elizabeth their first day here, if there was even the smallest possibility he would take it. But he wasn't willing to lose anyone to the impossible.

But Rodney did not understand; could not tell possible from impossible and until he could, John would not be able to take his word as truth. Which was going to complicate things.

And he wasn't sure how Rodney was going to be able to prove himself. To show John he had learned his lesson, because quite obviously he _had not_. He didn't understand. The _genius_ didn't understand.

And that was the problem.


End file.
